


C(OPEN)HAGEN

by Bold_Cherry



Category: Brallon - Fandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:32:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bold_Cherry/pseuds/Bold_Cherry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon takes a trip overseas to a city called Copenhagen. He's met with a strange culture, a weird language, and someone with soft chestnut hair and a smile that can compete with the sun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	C(OPEN)HAGEN

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lily/gifts).



> I am a sucker for fics where the characters meet on holidays, or one of them has another nationality (hence my other fic Hold On To Your Heart) and what better city to place it in, than my own home?  
> This is for Lily, my American best friend who's coming to visit me in Copenhagen in less than 2 months!  
> 

Copenhagen probably wasn’t the typical place for an American to spend their holiday. Brendon figured most Americans wouldn’t ever know that the city even existed, and that’s why he’d have to deal with a lot of weird looks and, “Is that in like, Sweden or something?” everytime his friends and family asked where in the world he was travelling, after he’d announced that he was going to be away for a month or so. His parents had provided him with a generous amount of money for his graduation to travel for. He’d saved it all and worked full-time in a Smoothie Hut for two years, so by the age of twenty, he probably had enough to travel the world. But when he’d started to search for European cities that were worth travelling to, he’d tripped and fallen for a place called Copenhagen. The old, charming capital of a tiny kingdom called Denmark, which consisted of more than 400 islands and barely 5.6 million citizens. As far as Brendon could tell, Denmark was everything USA wasn’t, and the more he read about the canals of Copenhagen, the diversity of the city and the laidback-ness of such a small country, the more he wished to be there. So Copenhagen it was.  
The night before he was scheduled to travel, he found himself reading articles and facts he’d already read hundreds of times, a goofy smile spreading on his face. Growing up in Nevada, open water wasn’t ever a part of Brendon’s life. The prospect of spending a month in a city practically in the water almost made his head spin with excitement, along with the fact that Copenhagen was described as the, “ _Cultural hub of Denmark and wider Scandinavia._ ”

 

A twenty-something hour planeride and three layovers later, the pilot announced for the passengers to strap on their seatbelts and hold on tight, because Copenhagen Airport was about fifteen minutes away. Brendon grabbed the armrests and felt something curl in his stomach. _Finally_. He looked out of the window he was seated next to. He wasn’t sure what time it was, as he had been shifting through timezones for about a day, but as they sunk into white, light clouds, he figured it was daytime, at least. The sunrays that stung in his eyes a few seconds later only proved it.

They emerged from the clouds and now, he could see land approaching. They were flying over open water, the borders of the island (Zealand, he knew) had soft curves. They went lower and lower untill Brendon had to bite the inside of his cheek out of nervousness from how close to the water they were now. It seemed they were way too close, and the airport couldn’t possibly be on the water. He craned his neck to try and look in the direction they were flying, trying to spot some land close by. He breathed a sigh of relief when out of nowhere, buildings and land appeared in front of them. After only a few seconds of rushing over what looked like a small city, he could see the gray asphalt of the landing-lanes underneath him. The plane hit the ground with a soft thump, and slowed down as the slightly raspy voice came over the speakers.  
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Copenhagen. It is just past ten am, the first of July, and about fifteen degrees celsius.”  
Brendon didn’t listen to the last few sentences, he was way too busy taking in his surroundings. There wasn’t much to see yet; Only the airport, which seemed slightly boring, just like any other airport he’d ever been to.

The airport itself though, was anything but boring. He’d already read that it was the biggest in Scandinavia, and though it didn’t have American proportions, Brendon found himself lost in the mess of people and languages he didn’t understand pretty quickly after claiming his baggage. He only wanted to get out and catch a cab to his hotel, but somehow, he’d wandered into a jungle of stores and bars, and though the signs had English translations under the original Danish instructions, they didn’t make sense to him, after being awake for well over twenty-four hours.  
He stopped in the middle of it all and took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind so he could make some sense of the sign above him. His contacts had dried out a little on the last planeride, making his vision slightly blurry.

He finally gave up, and decided to just suck it up and ask someone. He spotted a tall, heavily-build man with gray streaks in his black hair and a Starbucks-cup in hand, only a few feet in front of him. Brendon hurried up to the man and cleared his throat, “Excuse me?”  
The man turned around, and Brendon was met with a slightly tanned face, kind brown eyes and a deep voice, “Yes?”  
“I’m a little lost, could you point me in direction of the exit?” Brendon noticed the plastic card hanging around the man’s neck. It had the letters “CPH” printed on them, along with a small photograph of the man’s face and some writing Brendon didn’t understand. He mentally patted himself on the back for managing to pick an employee, instead of some tourist.  
The man cracked a smile at him, “Of course.” and asked in only slightly accented English, “Do you need a taxi?”  
Brendon nodded, and the man signaled for him to follow. Brendon had to take bigger steps than he was used to, to keep up with the man, as he confidently walked through the masses.  
“American?” the man asked with a raise of his eyebrow as Brendon finally reached his side.  
“Yes, first time here.” he said, trying not to sound too winded. The man hummed.  
“Where? I was just in Boston last month.” he smiled.  
“Las Vegas.” Brendon breathed. The guy nodded.  
“What brings you here?” he asked, slowing as they approached something that maybe looked like doors - It was hard to tell with the massive crowd in the way.  
Brendon shrugged, “Wanting to see something else?”  
The man chuckled and pushed through the last crowd, stopping in front a big glass door. He pointed to the two or three taxis that were parked just outside, with people getting into them.  
“Taxis are just out there. Good luck getting one, though.” he said.  
Brendon nodded, “Thank you, I’ll try.”  
He send the man a grateful smiled and grabbed his suitcase as the employee held the door open for him and said, “You’re welcome. Have a nice holiday!”

 

The hotel building was black and modern, with the words “WakeUp Copenhagen” written sideways in white and limegreen down the side of it. The reception was held in whites, greens, browns and blacks, sleak and modern. He was given the keycards and directions to his room by the nice, smiling receptionist, who wished him a nice stay, and told him to call the frontdesk via the phone in his room if he needed anything.

His room was just as modern as the rest of the hotel. It wasn’t very big, but the white walls and the glassdoors of the bathroom made it seem a lot bigger. It was rectangular, the double bed tucked into the end of it where a big window with a view over some of the city was placed. He threw his bags by the door and threw himself on the white sheets, closing his eyes and relaxing into the soft matress. He kicked off his shoes and curled up on his side. He knew that sleeping know would only fuck up his inner clock even further, but he really couldn’t care less, as he tucked his arm under the fluffy pillow and closed his eyes.

 

When he woke up again at somewhere around 6pm, the sun was still shining, high on the blue skies. Brendon blinked at the unfamiliar surroundings, untill he realized where he was, and he couldn’t help the smile that came on his face. _Copenhagen_.

He took a cab from the hotel to the city square, knowing that he needed to figure out the S-trains soon, as they were much cheaper, but right now, he just wanted to stand there, on the city square he’d seen so many pictures of. It was big, not gigantic, you could easily walk from one end to the other in a minute. Right in front of him was the city hall, a brown-red brick building with many, old windows arranged next to and above each other. There was a tower on the left side with a clock on it, and the white-and-red-flag was waving a little in the slight breeze of the summer evening. There were a few teenagers seated on the steps in front of the building, stretching out and leaning their heads back, taking in the warm, deep yellow rays of the sun.  
A group of pigeons flapped into the air as he walked across the square, landing a few feet ahead of him, a couple of them starting to pick at a piece of bread, supposedly from the wagon parked close to the edge of the square. Brendon knew what it was, and felt the goofy smile come back. A _sausage-wagon_. Litterally a wagon parked somewhere in the city, with a tiny kitchen inside, selling hotdogs and burgers. A national treasure, he’d read. He couldn’t help but bounce a little as he quickly walked up to it, keen to try it out.

He didn’t understand much of the menu card hanging one the side of the wagon, only international words like “hotdog” and “burger”. When the man turned to him and said something he didn’t understand either, Brendon smiled a little nervously.  
“Hotdog?” he tried. The man nodded and said something again, obviously a question, but not one Brendon could make any sense of.  
“Sorry?” he asked. The man gave him a weird look until realization dawned on him, and he said, “With it all?”  
Brendon blinked and nodded. Sure, why not, okay.  
A few minutes later, he was handed a red sausage in a hotdog-bun, topped with layers of ketchup, mustard, pickles, raw onions, something brown and crispy he didn’t recognize, and a yellow substance he didn’t know either. Paying with his card, and reminding himself to get some danish money, he nodded his thanks to the man, and took off down a busy shopping street.

He’d read of this street as well. Long and broad, filled with people at all times of the day, stores, cafés and resturants lined up next to each other, with the occasional gap of a side-street. As he walked along it, he took in how different it was from what he was used to. The street itself was concrete tiles. Most of the buildings were old, though modernized by the stores. Somewhere halfway, there was an open space; the tiles changed into smooth concrete in dark and light patterns, and a large fountain rose in front of him. Sculptures of three storks sat on top of it, the birds looking poised and ready to fly off. The sunrays hit the light-green verdigris, making the entire fountain glow. A few people sat on the edge of the bassin, talking and enjoying the warmth from the sun that still did not show any signs of setting anytime soon.

The street ended and turned into another open square, which transformed into a long harbor with a street on both sides. The right side was in shadow and only had a few people walking along it. The tall buildings were kept in light colors, pressed tightly together. The right side was bathed in sun. The buildings, just as tall and pressed together, were almost all a different color. Red, yellow, blue, green. Almost every one of them had a café, chairs and tables taking up half the street. The edge of the harbor was almost filled up with people sitting on it, kicking their legs a few feet above the water, eating ice creams, or drinking out of beer cans.  
Brendon sighed, feeling the happiness coursing through his veins. _Nyhavn_. Another spot he’d read about. The name translated into New Harbor.  
There were boats tied to the left side of the harbor, variating in colors and sizes. On the other side were signs with “Canal Tour, 20 kr”. He’d read about that as well; Big, open boats that were actually guided tours around the city, but on water, as most of Copenhagen was surrounded by water. Brendon decided to go on one of those tours in the morning, just to get the basic sights and history lessons.

 

He sat up in his hotelbed, looking out of the window. It was just around midnight, and the sun had finally began to set about two hours earlier. The city lit up the bottom of the sky in a lightbrown color, mixing with the slight orangeness of the stubborn sun. Brendon sighed, a content smile on his face, and took in the sight. He hadn’t gotten to see much yet, at all, but the stroll down Strøget and the walk up and down Nyhavn had made him happier than he’d felt in a long time.  
That thought made him giggle, as he remembered an article about how Denmark had been named the happiest country in the world. Brendon could understand why, when they walked around in places like this. Just the tiny part of Copenhagen he’d seen so far had given him the impression that this was, indeed, a city of diversity. The buildings alone were a clash of historical and modern. There were all kinds of people, from punkers to rich ladies and their tiny dogs, and anything in between.

Brendon crawled under his sheets - which weren’t sheets, but an actual duvet, though not very thick or heavy due to the season - with the promise of an eventful day awaiting him, the content smile etched onto his face.

 

The next day was just as sunny and warm, the warm rays beating down on Brendon as he stood by the edge of the harbor, waiting for one of the canal tour boats to come pick him and the rest of the crowd up. He had a hard time standing still and shifted his weight from side to side.  
They were rushed into the boat quickly after it was emptied, and asked to find a seat. Brendon opted for one of the seats at the very front, close to where he knew the guide would be standing.

The guide, as it turned out, was a tall guy with fluffy chestnut hair, lightly stroked back with a loose hand. Brendon’s mouth fell open a little as the guy smiled at the man who was driving (sailing?) the boat. He had a bright, cheeky smile, his skin glowed in the sun, only slightly tanned. He was wearing simple jeans and a plain light-grey shirt, but the way the muscles under his soft-looking skin flexed as he grabbed the microphone had Brendon squirming in his plastic-seat.

The guy said something into the microphone as the boat pushed away from the harbor. Danish was a weird language. Throaty and sort of flat, filled with noises he’d never even heard before. The guide switched into perfect American English,  
“Hello everyone, and welcome to this canal tour around Copenhagen. My name is Dallon, and I’m going to be your guide. I’ll be doing the talking, in both Danish and English. The tour takes about forty minutes, and I hope you’ll enjoy yourself.” he pulled the microphone away and smiled again, leaning against the half-wall that separated the control- and steering panels from the rest of the boat. Brendon swallowed hard. The guide, Dallon, had his arms losely folded just under his chest, his head turned slightly to one side, facing away from Brendon. His jawline was sharp and defined, and his hips were angled _just so_.

Brendon had a hard time paying attention to what Dallon was actually saying throughout the tour, and halfway through realized he’d have to take the tour again some other time, when the guide wasn’t so insanely attractive. He only catched a few names of a castle and a church, and two, “Please mind your head, as this bridge is very low.”  
He was busy trying to keep his mind out of the gutter, if he was completely honest. Somehere halfway through, Dallon had pulled a pair of black sunglasses out of the pocket of his jacket that had been slung over the back of a chair reserved for him. He kept pacing back and forth on the little bit of space he had, right in front of Brendon and the two other passengers that had taken their seats at the front, and everytime he turned at their side to walk back, Brendon had to bite hard on his lip and force himself to not stare at the guide’s ass. He nearly lost it when Dallon announced that they would be returning to the harbor soon, let himself fall into his chair, slipped off his sunglasses, caught Brendon staring and winked at him.

Brendon climbed onto the harbor and stood there, looking around. He wasn’t sure what to do next, and honestly, he’d rather take the tour again, just so he could drool over the hothothot guide.  
A voice called something he didn’t understand from behind him, and he spun around to see Dallon leaning against the edge of the boat, looking at him with a questioning look on his gorgeous features.  
“Sorry?” Brendon tried, doing his best not to choke on the simple word.  
A knee-wobbling grin spread on Dallon’s face. “You lost?” he asked.  
“Uhm,” Brendon cleared his throat “Sort of?”  
“Hold on.”  
Dallon climbed out of the boat and onto the harbor, jacket clasped in one hand. He straightened up next to Brendon, a few inches taller, grinning at him. He held out his hand,  
“Dallon.”  
Brendon grabbed his hand and shook it lightly, biting the inside of his cheek briefly and trying to sound casual as he retorted with, “Brendon.”

Dallon tilted his head to the side, “American?” he asked.  
“That obvious?” Brendon said, trying not to blush. Dallon’s grin widened, as if that was possible.  
“Only to another American.”  
Brendon blinked at him, “You’re American?”  
It made sense with the name and perfect English, but not the fluent Danish.  
Dallon nodded, “Yep. Or, well, half-American. The rest is from here.” he said, gesturing to their surroundings.  
Brendon nodded and shuffled his feet, cursing himself for not being able to keep up conversation.  
“Look, I’m off from work now, so..”  
Brendon looked up to see Dallon lowering his head a little and looking at Brendon through his lashes, a light rose blush appearing on his cheekbones.  
“Do you wanna, maybe, go grab some coffee? I know this great place..” he said, smiling shyly. Brendon almost gulped.  
“Yeah, yes, sure.”

**Author's Note:**

> So if I tell you that my father has black hair, works in CPH Airport and goes to Boston once a year for a convention......?
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [Pictures of the places mentioned](http://venominyoureyes.tumblr.com/post/48962860769/visit-copenhagen-chapter-1-more-arriving)


End file.
